


Farm To Table

by frumious_bandersnatch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Play, Cannibalism, Cooking, Food Porn, Knife Play, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:34:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28247727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frumious_bandersnatch/pseuds/frumious_bandersnatch
Summary: Cooking lessons.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Alastair
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Farm To Table

**Author's Note:**

> Hope ya’ll enjoy. Writing this made me hungry, lol.

“Now to get in we’re going to have to crack the ribs.” Alastair hummed. He was pressed gently against Dean’s back, hands occasionally reaching around to guide the hunter’s to the right place to snap or cut or pull. 

“Don’t toss them, we can either crack them for marrow or make a nice stock.”

Dean shook his head, biting his lip. “Al, when you said cooking lessons-“

“Call it, hm, farm-to-table. Except the farm in this case is the rack. He was a pedophile. It’s fine. And you’re not very human anymore, are you? Not cannibalism.”

“Oh, that makes it so much better.” Dean scoffed, wiping bloodied hands on his jeans.

“Do you want to eat tonight or not?”

Dean did, in fact, want to eat. And why wouldn’t he? Alastair’s cooking was...it was beyond amazing. To die for, really. He guessed that came with the territory of being alive for thousands of years. You got good at things. So Dean pulled out the organs (set aside liver, heart, lungs, kidneys, stomach, took out the intestines and set those apart so they could feed the hounds later once they were cleaned) and excised choice cuts (filet, ribeye, rump roast, shoulder) and Alastair helped him trim them and clean everything so they could start.

Farm to table didn’t seem to apply to the herbs and vegetables. Alastair simply summoned them to hand and guided Dean through cuttin and rubbing and cleaning, and the whole room smelled like garlic and rosemary and blood. 

“Now this, we’ll, hm, cook nice and slow with some potatoes and parsnips. You can always...treat human like you would pork, mm? Same structure, same cuts, same distribution of fat, same cooking. So we’ll do the rump roast with apples and a sweet glaze, tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Greedy little thing, you are.” Alastair chided, chuckling. “I suppose we could try and fit it all in today. And apple pie for dessert?”

“Dude, yes.”

“Glutton.”

“We’re in Hell, Al, you can’t rib me for having vices.” And then they were kissing, slow and indulgent, and Alastair lifted Dean up to sit on the counter and he stepped in between his legs and they became far less focused on cooking than they were on eachother. 

Dean groaned, hands reaching up to grip at Alastair’s back, legs spreading and back arching as he let the older demon take the lead. Let him kiss and mark and claim and fuck, did Dean love every second of it.

Alastair ended up bending him over the counter, fucked into him for what felt like hours. Even reached to grab the paring knife from the sink and carve little designs into Dean’s back. He could never resist the temptation for long. Dean loved that too. Loved the throbbing pain, loved the feeling of blood sliding hot and sticky down his skin, loved how he’d scream and bellow when Alastair gripped onto freshly carved skin for purchase and just fucked him harder. 

“Lesson two. Always clean as you cook.” Alastair said breathlessly, pulling back and stowing his cock in his slacks. “Or fuck, as the case may be. Get a rag. Clean your mess.” He nodded to the spattered cum and blood drying on the floor

Dean groaned sedately. “Fuck off. You do it, I’m spent.” He mumbled, shakily pushing himself to his feet and stretching as he hitched up his jeans and tugged his shirt back on. 

“No you’re not.” He wasn’t. Damn Alastair. The fact he knew so much- knew Dean inside and out, knew every limit and need, while endearing, was fucking annoying sometimes. Dean groaned again. 

But he did clean. Knelt down on the stone floor and wiped up the mess, ended up having to pick up scraps of carrot peel and trimmed fat as well until the floor was spotless, up to Alastair’s expectations and level of perfection.

And it was nice. Because when he was back up the rest of the kitchen was clean too, and the roast they had cooking was really starting to smell delicious. 

He could hear the far sizzling at the bottom of the pan, could practically taste the succulent meat on his tongue as he closed his eyes. 

“Another hour, on that one.” Alastair lamented. “Not sure I can wait, either. But we could always fry up the liver in the meantime? Have some wine?”

“Whiskey, for me.” Dean corrected. And they spent the next half hour prepping and cooking liver and shallots in too much butter, and it was rich and succulent and made Dean moan as he ate the still too hot meat and slouched back in his chair. 

“We should do this more often.” He mumbled through a mouthful as Alastair siloed at his wine. 

“You certainly don’t need to ask me twice.” Alastair chuckled, glancing down at Dean fondly. “You sit there, I can take care of the dishes. The roast should be just about done, soon, and we have the other one in there starting, should take about two hours more? And then we bake the pie.” He shook his head. “So much to do.” 

“We’ve got all the time in the world. I’ll help.” 


End file.
